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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225298">Oh, Crystal Ball</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/21stCenturyHero/pseuds/21stCenturyHero'>21stCenturyHero</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:06:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/21stCenturyHero/pseuds/21stCenturyHero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>[<b>...</b>] it left a sour taste in your mouth, crawling under your skin and annoyingly pricking you not unlike a needle, making your teeth clench and palms sweat, and maybe you started walking a little bit faster that day [<b>...</b>] threading through the same corners bursting with nervous energy of people lamenting the end of the world.</i>
</p>
<p>As the world threatens to end, a single lonely soul is granted a moment of solitude, and why not live sincerely then, you and I?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ktísis: A Final Fantasy XIV Fanzine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Oh, Crystal Ball</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was a piece originally written for the Ktísis zine, a charity zine which was available on the Twitter (@amaurotine_zine) from April 2nd to April 30th. This was my first time participating in such projects, and as such, I would like to thank the moderators, all my fellow writers and artists, and all of those who supported this lovely project.</p>
<p>Because of the themes of "creation", please enjoy the struggles of creation from the point of view of a character who's at the same time unknown and known to all.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By now, you have grown used to it.</p>
<p>Not a day passed by without you repeating the same motions, walking down the streets that were always pleasantly illuminated by the aetherical lamps that seemed to hurt your eyes with their faint glow, threading through the same corners bursting with nervous energy of people lamenting the end of the world. It left a sour taste in your mouth, crawling under your skin and annoyingly pricking you not unlike a needle, making your teeth clench and palms sweat, and maybe you started walking a little bit faster that day, making your way to the Bureau of the Architect.</p>
<p>This was a place you belonged to, or thought you did, once — the pleasant music once calmed your flaring nerves, but now it only added to them, and while the people who knew you smiled, you couldn’t help but feel it creep upon you like it was plastic. You did not greet them, not that day — instead, you dashed through the well lit corridors, feeling the bile rise up to your throat as the music swelled and you closed the door of one of the offices behind you, shutting yourself in the deepest dark, letting its shadow drape over you like black ink and hold you in its embrace. Everything felt loud; it was the background music, and the worries and pleas, and the world was ending and you didn’t know what to do.</p>
<p>As a child, you <em>wanted </em>to belong there. You <em>wanted </em>to create something amazing, something special, something to rival the great Lahabrea in his creations — but now the world was ending and you wouldn't dare to use an abacus to measure the width of your old dreams, naive as they were.</p>
<p>The music hit one last high note, and then, silence.</p>
<p>You pushed away the memories of better days when the sunset didn’t sting your skin and monsters didn’t come from the sea, back when the end of the world was a make-believe scenario reserved for the Hall of Rhetoric; instead, you paid attention and heard the world around you, <em>listened, </em>listened to your heartbeat, listened to the voice deep within you. You tried to contain your thoughts, but still, you thought it was <em>scary </em>— was everything going to end? Were people going to die? Were <em>you </em>going to die? Until you finally felt nothing but fear and your knees gave out, leaving you shaking on the floor as your Aether left you, creating something you could not quite name.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hear, think, feel.</em>
</p>
<p>By now, those words were burned deep inside your mind.</p>
<p>You opened your eyes and glanced upon your creation, a crystal sphere of undetermined diameter. You slowly reached your hand for the marble — beautiful, perfect, immaculate — and held it on your hands, inspecting it for flaws or imperfections, basking in awe in its glow, feeling as if the sunrise of your childhood shone upon your face, so vibrant, so radiant, so warm—</p>
<p>No, this was wrong. <em>Wrong wrong wrong.</em></p>
<p>You could feel the sphere burning into your hands, searing your very soul as your despair was made manifest in this, and for a long second, you felt disgusted by yourself. <em>But this was wrong. </em>You wanted to create so in dark days you might experience the sunlight, and in unbearable hot days of summer you might experience the shade of winter — so that when you’re old and wizened, you might feel the thrill of being young again.</p>
<p>So what did you want to create, after all?</p>
<p>You held the crystal ball above your head as you felt it scorch every muscle in your body and you sang, sang the words of creation. <em>Let it climb like vines over the walls, let it create roots deep within the soil.</em> Listen. Listen to your heartbeat, listen to the voice and let it be…—</p>
<p>It was so, so tempting to embrace the despair, but you could not, would not. You took a shallow breath, and you heard, you thought, you <em>felt</em> deep within your soul, holding it ever closer to your body—</p>
<p>— and you smashed it on the ground.</p>
<p>Only now, you could truly begin.</p>
<p>You wanted to create something to make someone happy, if possible — even if it took you eons. So as you wished, your new creation harkened to your words and slowly became a concept, sprouting root, and trunk, and leaves, embracing the shattered remains of what was left of the crystal ball. It grew swiftly, and it grew strong, so it could last a thousand thousand years and be a beacon, guiding those that came after you to a brighter tomorrow. The dangling crystal provided light so others could follow, glittering and lighting up the way, projecting its images of sunrises and sunsets on the wall in a way that made each day it represented look like a million tiny stars, full of possibilities.</p>
<p>Hope and despair. What a concept.</p>
<p>You smiled to yourself. You might die, people might die, the world might die. So why not live on sincerely at least today, you and I?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Like always, you can find me on tumblr: https://21stcenturyhero.tumblr.com/<br/>And on twitter: https://twitter.com/21stcenturyher0</p></blockquote></div></div>
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